


Haven

by Tridraconeus



Series: Preservation [3]
Category: Predator Original Series (1987-1990)
Genre: (the predator’s dick), Bloodplay, Care Kink, Cuddling, Disabled Character, Dominance, Floor Sex, Knifeplay, Large Insertion, M/M, Monsterfucking, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Possessiveness, Size Difference, Spanking, Tenderness, Teratophilia, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Wrestling, belly bulge, clawplay(?), playfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: The Hunter can't stay away. He doesn't really need to.
Relationships: Yautja (Predator)/Original Character(s), Yautja (Predator)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Preservation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641511
Comments: 17
Kudos: 141





	1. Haven: Noah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charbax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charbax/gifts), [LeoOtherLands](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/gifts).



> for charbax: You asked, I delivered.  
> for leo: thanks for naming Orion, even though I never actually use his name! Whoops  
> Non-canon porny soft (for a Predator, the Hunter thinks Noah is very fragile but admires his spunk) wish-fulfillment. Also like, artistic license for the sex.

**August 10th, 1997**

**Ohio**

It had been almost a decade since he’d seen the hunter last, and the valley had been blessedly quiet since then. He continued doing his rounds to the camera traps on weekends; had enough money to get a surgery to keep his injured leg from getting worse, if not make it better; met someone, once, who ignored his scars, and thought for a while they may be right for each other, but Noah loved the valley too much to move away from it. 

He got chickens again. He took up gardening, as well, in raised beds that some of his friends from town helped him make, and on one of his birthdays he’d even gotten a carved wooden crutch.

It was good. Things were good. He had nightmares about the Bad Blood occasionally, but no longer regularly; they had replaced his nightmares about the hunter, and gradually had faded out. 

The current summer was wickedly hot and stickier than normal. Noah took to walking around mostly shirtless, maybe with a thin linen shirt if he was going to town or down to the valley. He was just coming up from a trip to the valley; it was about midday. He was thirsty and dripping sweat, but in high spirits and still feeling an insistent buzz of energy. Maybe he’d garden for a little.

The back door to the house was open. He peeked his head in, looked down to check for a blood trail or footsteps when that initial surveyance yielded nothing. It might be an animal; bears or foxes were smart enough to get inside if they smelled something good enough, and Noah didn’t live close enough to anyone to make a burglar likely. It was silent inside the house, so maybe he’d just neglected to close the door properly and a rare gust of wind had blown it open. He hung up his bow and quiver and took out the retracting blade instead; held it as little more than a hilt in his hand as he crept forward. 

There was a depression on his couch, but he couldn’t see anything there. Hepointedly _ignored_ it for now and crept— as well as he could with a crutch— past the counter into the living room proper, then turned as if to look at the now-closed back door. He was starting to get a good idea of who his _visitor_ might be. He got himself a glass of water and drained it, splashed the remnants on his head, then put the glass down on the counter with a soft _clink_.

There was a rustle behind him. He whirled around, pointing the retracting blade but not yet extending it.

“I knew it!”

Sure enough, there was his hunter. The injuries from his battle with the Bad Blood had resolved into sprawling, magnificent scars, pure testimony to his skill and grit. The hunter cocked his head as if he were amused at Noah’s show of threat; all it took was one massive hand closing around his wrist for the sword to clatter to the ground, useless, and kicked away in the next second. 

Noah yelped and tugged his hand back, hastily backing up a few steps. The hunter let him retreat. He turned to the crutch next— this wasn’t a fight, or it would be over already, but the hunter seemed to find it amusing that Noah was trying to defend himself regardless. 

As he lifted the crutch to smack the hunter with it, it thudded into the hunter’s palm instead, and this time the hunter _didn’t_ let him pull back. Noah’s breath got stuck in his throat and he tried to tug it free— _stupid. Idiot._ He remembered what happened the last time he tried that trick, and it had ended with him fracturing his knee again. 

The hunter refused to let go, but also didn’t try to hurt him for his mistake. Instead, he slowly started to pull the crutch to himself, tucking it under his arm. Pulling _Noah_ to himself, forcing him to take piecemeal steps forward or else lose his grip on the crutch.

Closer. Noah dug his heel in, then staggered a few steps when the hunter gave the slightest tug. This was _not_ going well for him. He bared his teeth, knowing full well that the hunter would not find it intimidating in the slightest. They were within touching distance now. Noah’s touching distance, he realized belatedly. He’d been within range of the hunter’s grasp for far longer— but he hadn’t been grabbed, or grappled, or struck down. 

The hunter was _playing,_ Noah realized, and waiting for Noah to catch on and choose whether to respond in kind.

“Oh, you wanna go?” He gave one more little testing yank on the crutch, then dropped it in favor of using his one good leg to pounce on the hunter. “Let’s go, then!”

The hunter predictably dropped the crutch and caught him around the waist instead, lifting him up— Noah smacked him across the helmet and kneed him in the shoulder. He couldn’t really hurt him without a weapon, and the hunter wasn’t even trying to hurt _him_ in the first place, just kind of handling him and keeping him from getting any leverage. 

He dropped slowly to a knee, Noah slotted neatly under him between his legs. Noah punched him in the chest and then used both hands to push his bent leg at the calf like he’d be able to budge him at all; the hunter reached for his face with one clawed hand and Noah hit him on the inside of the wrist, and surprisingly, the hunter backed off. Let his hand reposition to Noah’s hip instead, digging in more from sheer size and strength than particular intent, and when Noah hit him there too he moved again.

There were _rules_ to this. The hunter was treating some of his hits like they were from a creature of equal size and strength— handicapping himself for Noah’s benefit. Making it fair. Noah hit the inside of his thigh, and he obligingly dropped that knee as well until he was straddling Noah. Not touching him, not dropping his full weight on Noah, which Noah was incredibly glad for, but a mimicry of falling to the blow. 

Noah took the advantage to shimmy out from under him, cocked both legs up, and kicked him in the chest. 

That didn’t go so well. The hunter caught him by the ankle of his good leg before it could connect and surged forward, the movement itself swift and overwhelming and smooth, and rolled Noah onto his shoulders with his knee pressed to his chest, his back propped up against the hunter’s knee. He yelled something indignant and indecipherable and of thorough enjoyment, clocking the hunter across the helmet with his bad leg. It made his knee twinge, but the hunter accepted the hit as serious enough to let go for and released him. Noah rolled onto his side— the hunter followed him after a suitable recovery time of two seconds, a massive knee pressing into his back with just enough pressure to almost hurt and a palm large enough to span the entirety of his skull grabbing a handful of hair.

There had to be a way out. The hunter always left a way out, some sort of counter, and Noah had to find it fast. He couldn’t reach the hunter’s ankle from here— digging into his Achilles would work, but again, too far. He couldn’t reach his helmet in this position.

He instead jerked as viciously as he could, elbow driving into the hunter’s hip. He didn’t have long enough arms to reach, and hit his thigh instead. The hunter did not consider that the right answer and forced his head into the ground, knee digging into his back. Noah reached back with both hands to dig his nails into the hunter’s wrists, lent extra, frantic strength by desperation. That was correct, and the hunter released his hair. Noah’s heart was pounding, and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He was breathing hard. He hadn’t had a good tussle in what felt like ages— what _had_ been ages. He twisted again, raking his nails down the inside of the hunter’s thigh. 

The hunter made a snarling noise that Noah nearly took to mean that he’d gone too far, but the hand that closed around his throat was still impeccably precise. He thrashed and yelled, kicking and punching even though his bad leg was definitely complaining by now, aching and twinging in sharp, pulsing shocks, and the hunter responded by rolling him into that shoulders-down legs-up position again. The hunter’s other hand rested on his thigh, claws pricking his skin through his pants. 

It felt very meaningful. Even more meaningful when it crept inwards, giving his rear a cheeky squeeze when he wiggled his hips in an attempt to get out. It wasn’t exactly _not_ a suggestive position, with his back pressed up against the hunter’s leg, the hunter’s arm between his legs to grip his throat, the hunter’s other hand quite clearly copping a feel— was this _foreplay_? Was this just how the hunter’s race got in the mood?

Did they fight? Did they actually brutalize each other, instead of the pseudo-gentle manhandling Noah was receiving? Was this flirting? _Courting_? With _him?_

Noah flushed, briefly frozen by the realization, and won a squeeze for the lapse. If he didn’t want this, he’d really struggle; thrash, reach for his pocketknife, yell for help, yell that he didn’t want it. The hunter was well aware of the gulf of strength between them; could force Noah into whatever position he wanted. He’d let Noah move him. Let him fight back. This was reciprocal. That emboldened Noah to simply dig his fingers into the hunter’s wrist again and kick him in the helmet. 

This time, he didn’t fall onto his back but rather rolled over his shoulder to collapse onto his front with a subdued _oof_ -ing noise. He was winded and panting— the hunter was sitting cross-legged and when he reached for Noah, Noah didn’t struggle, and in short order was hauled into the hunter’s lap to renew the wrestling match. Noah punched him in the gut and got shoved to his back for it, and he used the sudden opportunity to kick the hunter in the chest— again. His bad leg burned, but he ignored it. The hunter grabbed him by the ankle and hauled him into his lap again, though only his bottom half, leaving Noah to lay awkwardly on his back as the hunter had free rein on his legs— his thighs were squeezed and the hunter even pressed the heel of his palm into Noah’s groin before Noah kicked him in the shoulder and righted himself. Flirting, _definitely_ flirting. 

The hunter snared him again by the jeans and tugged him back onto his lap, this time lengthwise. Noah’s waist was in the hunter’s lap and Noah’s chest was halfway to the ground, his arms too forward to smack at the hunter unless he turned himself wholly, and even then only the hunter’s side. He was held there, securely, until he grumbled and stopped uselessly punching and kicking. His bad leg was shaking, trembling, and it ached something terrible. He’d been very stupid to use it so much. 

The hunter let him pant for about half a minute. Then, he dug the heel of his palm into the muscle of Noah’s bad leg. It wasn’t meant to hurt; certainly could have, but Noah was pinned and helpless. Fascination, maybe, or a mimicry of a disabling blow. The firm pressure felt good. Sometimes Noah would rub the leg after taking a shower or before he went to bed, when he was loose and relaxed all over except for the tense, twitching, constant almost-pain of his leg. 

The position was weird; he was half-draped over the hunter’s lap, hands grasping at the back of his armored loincloth while his hips were propped over the hunter’s muscled thighs. He had absolutely zero leverage and if the hunter so wanted, he could lean back and grab Noah by the scruff. 

He didn’t, though. He rubbed Noah’s sore and aching leg until a wave of relief managed to overpower the pain. 

Worse, it started to feel good. The hunter’s paws were absolutely massive and strong, and dextrous despite both those things, and he had a much better angle than Noah ever could. Despite himself, he let his eyes drift half-shut and relaxed, fairly melting into a puddle on the ground. 

“Don’t stop,” he sighed. He was sprawled out again, loose-limbed and entirely malleable under the hunter’s hands. His own hands petted at the hunter’s side, following the indented valley of a scar carving his hip from front to back. From the Bad Blood’s wristblades-- it hadn’t been a good hit, but it was a deep one, from when the hunter had tackled it when it had been so close to killing Noah. He smoothed over it one more time and twisted his head to look at the hunter in his periphery.

Time to flirt back. “You know, you could get at it better if you took my jeans off.”

There was a long second as the hunter processed Noah’s suggestion; then, his shoes were ripped off and the hunter undressed his lower half at speed, even while still being careful to avoid jerking his bad leg the wrong way. He felt a moment of fear, of worry, that the hunter would be surprised that he didn’t have a dick, but reminded himself that the hunter had stripped him before after the battle with the Bad Blood and hadn’t seemed to give a damn then, and it was an alien so it probably didn’t care anyway. 

He didn’t know where his pants— and underwear!— went, and didn’t much care. He’d find them later anyway. The hunter’s hands returning to his sore thigh were the priority, and against his bare skin the difference was striking and immediate. The hunter’s hands were leathery and warm, hot, almost burning, like a hotpack. His leg spasmed and fell obediently, contentedly still.

“Oh, don’t stop.” The hunter dug his knuckles into the muscle just above Noah’s knee. Noah moaned. “ _Oooh_ , _god_.”

His hand could wrap almost entirely around Noah’s thigh when it moved upwards; nudging Noah’s legs open gradually, less forceful and more knowing that Noah would acquiesce. That he was being so thorough in making sure that Noah was on board made Noah huff out a laugh. He tugged the hunter’s armor, arching his back as well as he could. “C’mon, keep going,” he encouraged. He hadn’t felt so loose and relaxed in ages. The hunter took the invitation and dragged his claws down the inside of Noah’s thigh, feather-light. It tickled, then tingled, and left a trail of heat; Noah sighed and arched his back again, good leg bending at the knee. The hunter got the hint and moved him again, tugged him higher with a hand around his thigh-- returned to stroking the pale insides of his thighs. He was being mindful with his claws and how easily he could nick Noah’s skin. _Was_ , even, digging in just enough to draw pinpricks of blood. It barely even hurt. Noah kind of liked it. 

The hunter finally moved upwards, brushing the curve of his rear with a calloused palm and boldly dipping between his legs again. 

Noah was wet-- aroused. Had been for a little bit, taken by the combination of not being in pain and being manhandled by the hunter, which was a weird combination but not a bad one. He hummed encouragement as the hunter prodded at him with a knuckle. 

“Thought we were wrestling.” He laughed, propping himself up on his elbows. The hunter chittered at him. “Yeah?” Noah said, as if he understood. Sort of. He knew by now that a _chitter_ was one of the ways the hunter could _laugh_. The hunter rolled him again, tugging both legs back onto his lap and forcing Noah onto his back, laying out in front of him. Noah reached up to halfheartedly push his hands away. The movement was far too slow to be genuine, allowing the hunter to gather both wrists in one massive hand and return the other to Noah’s heat. He didn’t attempt to finger Noah, which he was glad for because of his claws, but was rubbing over Noah’s clit with his bent forefingers and making his hips jolt as the insistent stimulation built into a burn of need.

“Fuck, you win. I surrender.” 

Noah was reasonably sure the hunter knew he’d won a _long_ time ago, but Noah just couldn’t take the teasing anymore. Either the hunter had to release him and let him crawl back onto his lap to be touched and fondled properly, or do something else to cool him off.

The hunter growled, a long, low sound of satisfaction. It made Noah’s heart skip. His breath caught. It would have frightened him if he didn’t know exactly what it meant— it made him feel hot all over instead. Instead of releasing him from the unorthodox pin, though, the hunter maneuvered him into a new position, Noah splayed out in front of him on his belly with his legs split around the hunter’s hips, propped up by his legs. 

Once assured that Noah had accepted his lot and wasn’t going to wriggle off, he returned to his thighs, creeping upwards to cup and squeeze his ass. He knew exactly what he was doing. Of course the hunter would know his way around a body-- spent enough time around them, and barely cared to cover his own. Noah wasn’t complaining. Funny, how his opinion could change with the proper reason.

Noah folded his arms and rested his chin on them, sighing. The position itself wasn’t uncomfortable, but he really had zero leverage here. It wasn’t a trick, though. He was confident enough now to know that-- if the hunter had wanted to hurt him, he would have. Wouldn’t have playfought with him and wouldn’t be minding his claws against Noah’s skin. 

His breath caught in his throat when the hunter’s palm connected with his rear. It wasn’t hard at all, just enough to sting, but unexpected enough that Noah tensed.

Unexpected. Not _bad_. It made his face heat. The hunter went back to contentedly groping him, occasionally laying a startling swat on his ass. 

It was playful and almost, well, human. 

“Have you been watching porn?”

The Hunter paused for a second. Noah worried that he’d said something very foolish indeed; he looked over his shoulder to see the Hunter with his hand up by his shoulder, and the next second he cracked his palm across Noah’s ass so hard Noah yelped and jerked. The gesture may have been weirdly human, but the strength that could be unleashed on Noah certainly was not. He took it to heart and moaned in defeat, burying his burning face in his folded arms. The Hunter made a rumbling noise in his chest that Noah recognized also as laughter, and returned to lighter, gentler swats. His rear was a toasty red and stinging by the time the hunter laid off, a hand smoothing over his sore ass and pulling him apart. The whole ordeal had made him even wetter than he’d been previously, wet enough that the hunter’s touch was slick and easy against his folds. He was sensitive and the slick touch burned as the hunter brushed over his clit— he whined and bucked his hips, and the hunter pressed his advantage and rubbed Noah’s clit with his thumb until he cried out. He bit his wrist, burying his face in his folded arms again. The hunter laughed at him and dragged its claws down his thigh. It stung, pain overshadowed another wave of heat from Noah’s hole. 

“ _Nnh—_ ” not quite what he’d meant to say. He wiggled his hips and won a swat for it. “Hey—” God, his voice was faint and shaky. He cleared his throat and tried again as the hunter toyed with his hole. “Stop teasing!”

The hunter patted the swell of his rear, and then the hunter’s hands retreated from his body. A hiss of air sounded from behind him. Noah breathed out slowly, lightheaded with need, and let the sounds wash over him. 

The chattering and growling noises the hunter had been making sounded far less muffled now— Noah guessed that it had taken its helmet off. Should he look back? Would that make it weird?

If the hunter wanted him to see, it would turn him over. He arched his back instead. Evidently, the hunter found that course of action amenable. He seized Noah around the hips with both hands and hauled him up, Noah bracing himself with his hands on the hunter’s crossed legs, and the next second something long and very wet found its way into his hole.

“ _N--_ ah, _ah--_ ” He’d meant to say something. What came out was utterly incomprehensible instead. He couldn’t do anything except hang there upside-down as what had to be the hunter’s tongue delved, thick and hot and wet, into his hole. The hunter’s tongue lashed his walls with merciless abandon; Noah put up somewhat of a fight-- squirming, grinding back, trying to talk and managing only warbling, needy moans. Within the span of two minutes he was hanging limp, thoroughly beaten into submission by the hunter’s tongue. His toes curled as the hunter paid some attention to his clit, dragging his tongue over the hypersensitive nub, and then he was lowered to lay on his side. Completely dazed, all he could do was whimper and lay there.

There were more noises coming from the hunter-- metal clicking, gear being discarded, and a low growl that Noah placed as a smug, satisfied purr. His legs were twitching and he couldn’t move, so he couldn’t begrudge the hunter his smugness. His shirt was tugged off of him and thrown, presumably over to where the rest of his clothes had ended up.

The hunter positioned himself over Noah again, pushing his legs open. Noah rolled onto his back and allowed his thighs to spread. He opened his eyes-- and came face-to-face, _really_ face-to-face, with the hunter.

He didn’t expect what he saw. Mandibles, mostly, beady eyes, looking altogether like a sharp, spiky, semi-human mastiff. It wasn’t pretty or even conventionally attractive.

The hunter was an alien. Noah was being horribly unfair to judge him like he would a human. Besides, Noah wasn’t one to talk-- maybe he’d been attractive at some point, but he now had a massive scar on his lip and plenty more on the rest of his body. The _worst_ from the thing that had just been eating him out.

When had his life gotten so goddamn weird?

He reached for the hunter, hands meeting halfway, tangling together. The hunter’s hand was so much larger than his and he kept _noticing_ that, was so much warmer, the hunter’s thighs feeling like a furnace against his own. The hunter let go of his hand to prop his hips up instead.

Right. They were going to fuck. At some point, likely soon, the hunter was going to fit himself _inside_ of Noah somehow, and they were going to fuck. His own hand rested on his thigh as if to hold his legs open— he had long, thin, shallow cuts from the hunter’s claws there, oozing blood, bright red streaks on his skin, not nearly enough to worry him. He craned his neck to get a look at what the hunter was packing, hoping he’d at least be a reasonable size, but he was in fact perfectly proportional. Noah didn’t often _stick_ _things_ _inside_ of himself. He wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to _fit_. His stomach flipped a little in anticipation and trepidation, almost overshadowed by desire. He’d been making a worried, whining noise— he bit his lip to shut himself up. 

The hunter put a hand over his chest. Over the massive, ugly scar, Noah noticed. His hand was warm and roughly calloused; the gesture soothing, but possessive, and it made Noah’s heart beat wildly. He cupped Noah’s face, thumb brushing his hair back. His lip, _that_ scar. Of course the hunter would like those— he’d caused them. 

They were trophies, maybe. Noah didn’t want to know what that made _him_.

“Okay, okay.” He put his own hand on the hunter’s wrist, squeezing. Pushing him off. The hunter’s hands returned to his hips, dragging him close. He pushed the thick, blunt head of his cock against Noah’s hole, holding Noah still and pushing himself in. It was hot, and thick, and big, and it hurt going in. The hunter’s cock was huge even when Noah was relaxed and half-dazed from his tongue-- it burned. Noah bit his lip and reached down to dig his nails into the backs of the hunter’s hands.

It would feel good, eventually, or at least he hoped it would. 

He opened his eyes-- wasn’t sure when he’d closed them. The hunter was staring at him. Noah glanced down-- the hunter was fully hilted in him, unbelievably, hips flush. There was an unnatural-looking bump in Noah’s stomach, and it sent a pang of fear through him— what if the hunter tore him open? What if he’d hit something?— but he wasn’t in any real severe pain. The stretch wasn’t too bad now that the hunter wasn’t moving, just a sting and burn. The warmth of the hunter’s cock certainly helped. The hunter’s hands on his hips were steady and firm, keeping him from trying to shift and quite possibly hurting himself— moving again. One under, spanning from one side of his hips to the other, and his other hand coming to rest between Noah’s shoulder blades. The hunter was leaned over him, in the process bringing his head and chest to Noah’s head. Noah took the opportunity to reach up and seize his biceps for support— the hunter lifted him, then, sitting back on folded legs and bringing Noah up with him. 

“Fuck,” Noah hissed. The new position dropped him down even further on the hunter’s cock, a new, hot stretch assaulting his hole. He let his head drop to the hunter’s chest. He was clinging to him, he noticed, breathing hard and trying not to tense up. The hunter was stroking his back with a knuckle down his spine, petting him like an animal. If this was how it felt now, how was it going to feel when the hunter started _moving_?

They’d been sitting there for almost an entire minute before he did. It didn’t hurt as much as Noah had expected— barely hurt at all, actually, the pain fizzling out and leaving only heat. He was wet enough with spit and his own slick that the slide was smooth, and he’d had time to adjust to the length and girth of the hunter’s cock. 

He tentatively rolled his own hips down into the hunter’s movements up. It won him a growl of approval. He could feel the vibration of it against his cheek, like a purr, but far deeper. 

“Yeah…” he only sounded a _little_ dazed this time, distant instead of stupid. The minuscule cuts on his ass and thighs stung. 

There was a lot of almost-pain, none of it bad, all of it making him drip with need. The hunter couldn’t really help that— he was so much bigger than Noah, was doing all he could to avoid hurting him and even then he was just so big that there was no way Noah _wasn’t_ going to be uncomfortable.

He’d never explored his sexuality much. The few times he’d had sex had been decidedly short, decidedly tame, and decidedly vanilla. Wrestling an alien— that had tried to kill him at one point, and then had saved his life— and getting split open on his thick cock directly after were not any of those things. If he was any less into it, he’d be horrified that his tastes were so deviant. 

Maybe not. He’d stopped giving a shit about what people thought was _deviant_ a long time ago. 

Now that he was properly adjusted and assured that his bottom half was fine, the part of him that walked in the valley with only a bow and an alien’s gift for protection was starting to get an itch. He wanted to move more. Wanted to go faster. He could take it, he was convinced. He rolled his hips back again, pointedly. His head was still pressed against the hunter’s chest and he could hear his heartbeat. It wasn’t as steady or slow as Noah would expect from the flawlessly patient hunter-- proving that he was just as excited as Noah. 

They started moving properly a few seconds later. Noah adjusted himself to get some leverage— he was doing most of the work, since he was on top. Funny, that the hunter was letting him be _on_ _top_. If he was still on bottom he might get crushed, though, so this was far preferable. 

The hunter was breathing hard, just like Noah. His claws dug into Noah’s back and hip, still not deeply enough to really hurt, just enough to make his blood rush and create new rivulets of blood down his back. 

Noah didn’t think he’d be doing this when he came walking up the hill towards home. The air around them was still muggy and wretchedly hot, and he was pouring sweat again from temperature and exertion, but he couldn’t deny the pure thrill of it.

He yelped in surprise as the hunter suddenly rose to his feet, taking Noah with him— still impaled on his cock, supported only by that and the hunter’s hands on him.

“Hey—!” 

Fuck, he was moving. Each step jostled the massive cock inside of him, making him whimper and cry out. It had long since stopped hurting. It just felt good now, burning and tight. The hunter was growling, husky with need. Noah thought he may come just from that— the unorthodox fucking and the hunter’s growl over his head. 

He came to a stop at the wall, leaning Noah up against it; he’d ended up in sort of a vertical missionary, the hunter’s hands holding him open at the thighs. He was quite familiar with missionary. Not like _this_.

Now that the hunter was the one with all the leverage, Noah quite literally pinned and at his mercy, he sped up. Noah didn’t scream, but his mouth dropped open and he let out a garbled, desperate moan as the friction and heat both increased. The hunter was fairly sawing into him— making wet, fleshy slapping noises as their hips connected, his balls smacking Noah’s ass on every brutal thrust in. He could see the outline of the hunter’s cock pushing in and out of him in relief on his belly. How he wasn’t torn open, he didn’t know— he was being driven crazy by the swift in, out, in, out, of the hunter fucking him. 

“I wanna come,” he forced out. The hunter growled again. Noah frantically sought out his clit with a hand, rubbing himself as the hunter fucked him. That was what he needed to push him from almost there to really, _really_ close. The hunter’s thrusts took on a desperate edge, harder, even faster, less of a thorough in and out and more sustained, rabbitlike pulses that knocked the breath out of Noah. He was close too.

“Come in me,” he urged, steadily toying himself to his own climax. It was going to be a lot, he already knew. He could feel the hunter’s cock _throbbing_ in him.

It growled, and finally came. A sudden rush of fluid even hotter than the cock it had come from flooded Noah’s insides, the hunter hilting himself completely and pushing Noah into the wall so hard he knew he’d bruise.

Barely five seconds later, Noah came, and it was too intense to simply moan for. He howled, tossing his head back and meeting the wall with a nasty-sounding smack. His head spinning did nothing to detract from the intensity of the orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” 

And still coming, even after the hunter’s flow had petered off. The hand on the hunter’s bicep had dug in enough to draw blood. It ran down his arm in viscous dribblets of fluorescent yellow.

When his orgasmic haze faded out he was suddenly aware of how sore and uncomfortable he was. There was afterglow, sure, but his body was choosing to remind him that a massive cock was still a massive cock and he would like it _out_ now, please.

“Fuck,” he groaned. The hunter was still holding him and still staring at him. Noah couldn’t decipher the expression on its inhuman face. His brain was too fried to even try. “Fuck, put me down.”

The hunter pulled him off of his dick. Noah grunted, legs swaying weakly. Cum dripped out of him. He was still drenched in sweat, mildly dirty from trudging around in nature, and now his inner thighs were dripping cum. _Alien_ cum. 

The hunter put him down and immediately had to catch him before his legs gave out. He managed to lean against the wall without embarrassing himself further, caught his breath and steadied up some, and then looked up at the hunter again. 

All things considered, it had been pretty good sex. He cracked a rare smile.

“You wanna go wash up?” 

The hunter nodded, once. Noah hobbled over to fetch his crutch, then set off still naked and filthy down the hall with the hunter following after him. They both smelled awful, he had no doubts, blood and sweat and sex, nearly all the bodily fluids that could be produced smeared liberally over the both of them. He left his crutch outside the bathroom to protect it from water damage and gestured for the hunter to follow; hauled his shower chair out and put it on the laundry hamper. It was a nice thing, really more of a stool, could be folded up and hung on a clothing hook when not in use. The hunter was blocking the clothing hooks he’d put on the bathroom door, and he didn’t care enough to fold it up and hang it anyway.

“Cold water okay?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer before flipping the water to cold and turning the shower on. “C’mon in, saves water.”

The hunter ducked under the shower rod and joined him. 

Overall, it was quick— he scrubbed himself down, ran the soap over himself a few times, cleaned himself out, and made the hunter lean down to make sure he hadn’t been scratched up too badly. He looked good with water dripping down his body, following the lines of his muscles. Some of the water took a faint fluorescent tinge, and Noah felt briefly guilty for having actually _broken_ his skin, considering how thick and tough it was. 

The hunter had done _far_ worse to him, he reflected as he felt his ass for new marks. The ugly, vivid scar on his chest was far from his thoughts in the moment. 

“Done?”

The hunter grunted back at him and he turned the shower off, got out, and tossed the hunter a towel before grabbing one for himself, toweling his hair dry and then moving on to the rest of him.

“You came back,” he said, finally, after toweling himself off and watching the hunter do the same in the cramped bathroom. He was mostly dry now. The afterglow had faded under the cold spray, and now he was only mildly sore and mostly sated. The hunter nodded at him. He was still a little damp, the towel more like a rag for him and not doing much to get him appropriately dry. Noah tossed him another, then turned and left the bathroom. He hobbled to his bedroom and tugged on pajama pants, then back to the kitchen to flip on the radio. He’d need to find his clothes, and retrieve the retracting blade from wherever it had ended up, but he could send the hunter off and do all that in the morning. He’d been thoroughly tuckered out— didn’t blame himself at all for it either.

He came back to the bathroom to find the hunter finishing up. He’d tied the towel around his waist— it barely fit. It was slightly comical, how it covered the tops of his thighs and barely anything else. 

“Looking good,” Noah snickered. His chest felt warm. Fondness, he realized. He was feeling _fond_ of the giant thing.

Instead of responding the hunter pushed out of the bathroom and scooped him up unceremoniously, slinging him over a shoulder. Noah yelped. “Hey!”

The hunter confiscated his crutch with his free hand and held it as he walked through the house, back to the living room, and set it on the floor near the couch. He then dropped down on the couch and pulled Noah onto his lap— turned, laid down, so Noah was instead resting on top of him. 

The room itself unsurprisingly smelled vaguely of sex but both the hunter and Noah smelled pleasantly of soap or else a lighter, less-offensive musk. The hunter put a hand on his hip and adjusted them both in the worn cushions.

Even the excitement of being picked up and carried like a sack of potatoes hadn’t done much to chase away his exhaustion. Noah yawned and let his head drop to the hunter’s chest, cheek pressed to his warmth. 

Cuddling with an alien. Imagine that. 

“‘Night,” he muttered. The hunter responded; purring to him, chest vibrating, hand still resting on his hip. He had some questions to ask. If the hunter was still here in the morning, he’d ask them then. 

He let his eyes close and drifted off.


	2. Haven: Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d tear him up if he kept up like this; he already knew Noah would not protest, because he had the same magnitude of appetite as the Hunter while his body was woefully incapable of bearing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since we're all in quarantine, early update for our sins

The Not-Prey baring his teeth and holding the retracting blade straight for the Bad Blood to fall upon had quickly become a story the Hunter was fond of telling. It always got a reaction when he repeated how the Not-Prey was completely willing to sacrifice himself to eliminate the Bad Blood; likewise, it always got a reaction when the Hunter revealed that he’d _survived_. Sometimes he’d tell about the Not-Prey trying to stumble on home naked and mostly-sedated. That usually got laughs, and engendered some degree of affection for the tenacious little beast in his audience. 

When he was given permission to return to Earth, barely any time had passed at all. He fought the urge to visit his Not-Prey for a day, and eventually gave in to it; not to kill him, and he wasn’t sure why if not for that. Maybe just to see him. 

He could be Prey; he was still skilled and knew the valley like the back of his hand. With his bow and arrows, if he had enough distance he’d have a good chance. 

The Hunter abruptly thought of the Not-Prey ducking under his arm to try and tug him outside for ruining the countertop, or sighing and laying lax in his arms as he carried him home, and the urge to kill him waned. He thought of his clan symbol that he’d carved into the handle of the Not-Prey’s pocketknife years ago and the urge waned even further. 

The house was much the same. The weird wire-and-wood enclosure he’d noticed but not thought too much about the first time had chickens in it. There was a garden of raised beds with tomatoes and carrots. As he finished taking in the state of the house, he opened the back door to let himself in and neglected to close it to give the Not-Prey a sporting chance of noticing him. Even when he was cloaked, the Not-Prey had an uncanny second sense of being able to pick him out— in the trees, in the hide, and certainly in his own home.

He sat down on the couch. It was the same one, older now, worn, a few new stains on it but clean. The kitchen was identical. In the living room where the Hunter was there were some animal skins on the mantel in front of the television, a few pictures in frames; wood, metal, sometimes not even in a frame and simply propped against the wall. They were mostly people the Hunter didn’t recognize with the Not-Prey. Some, black and white and of animals, were more were clearly taken by the trailcams. 

The Hunter had barely been sitting for a minute before the phone rang. The phone was in the kitchen, hanging on the wall by the refrigerator, a bulky cream-colored thing with a spring-coiled cord. It rang, and rang, and rang, and finally a recording of the Not-Prey’s voice asked the caller to _leave a message_.

“Hi, Noah,” the voice started. It was cheery and female, perky despite the heat and hour. “This is Eileen calling from the Parks Department.” She continued on about some meeting and money, and funding, and Noah’s camera traps and the photos from them being used in some sort of breeding program, but the Hunter stopped listening. The Not-Prey had a _name_. He’d known, of course, that the Not-Prey had a name, but when he hadn’t _known_ it that fact had been little more than a conceptual thing; he couldn’t even imagine the Not-Prey having a name that other people called him and that he responded to. He was just that; Not-Prey, hobbling on a crutch, shooting the Bad Blood full of arrows, baring his teeth and cursing, letting his weak hand streak blood all over the Hunter’s helmet, flying through the trees with the rifle that was almost used to kill him. He was too wild to have a name. He belonged to the valley, and the inhuman and savage rules that governed there, and he was Not-Prey, and he was named by the valley and the things that lived there, and he _couldn’t_ be named by humans because he was barely one himself. He was untethered from the sensibilities of the humans the Hunter usually preyed upon. 

Now he was _Noah_. Eileen from the Parks Department had brought him down and made him human again. It was for the best, the Hunter told himself; Noah was an exceptional human, but still a human, and he’d been broken over and over again by first the Hunter, and then the Bad Blood, and even before that he’d been brutalized by his own kind. 

He felt like a damn Youngblood with a crush. His heart had skipped, years ago, when he’d stripped Noah to smear medigel on his cracked ribs and seen the florid, magnificent scar on his chest. It would have killed him. It could have, it should have killed him, and the Hunter had been ready to make it so, but he’d survived. The wound had healed, had scarred over, and it was an _attractive_ scar. When he’d come up on Noah from behind to pick him up and carry him home he’d admired the exit point scars as well. They were less expansive, but gnarled and puckered. The Hunter wanted to touch them. They were his handiwork. Healed, they were exquisite. Any Yautja would be proud to bear them like badges of honor. 

A puddle of body heat was steadily climbing up the hill that led to the back porch. Noah had returned-- he peeked his head in, looking for evidence of a visitor. The door clicked shut and a few seconds later he turned the corner to the area separating the kitchen from the living room; he’d hung up his bow and quiver, but the retracting blade was at his side, low and fantastically confident. It wasn’t even extended. Noah stared at the couch for a second and then turned away to continue on to the kitchen. Now that the Hunter could see him properly, he’d obviously been down in the valley-- his shirt was drenched in sweat and his hair was flat against his head. The Hunter watched him as he got himself a glass of water and poured the bottom of the glass over his head after he'd drank it, and kept watching-- Noah shook his head, threw his hair off of his forehead. He rose at about the same time Noah put the glass down and cut the distance between them considerably with a few long, quiet steps.

Noah’s shoulders pinched together-- he’d been heard. He’d walked into some sort of trap, or else he was following an unseen script that Noah had set out for him. He didn’t expect anything less.

Standing, now, close to him, showed how small Noah had stayed. He was on the tall side of average for a human but he only reached the Hunter’s shoulder, and his body hadn’t been cultivated to bring down beasts much larger than himself with little more than a sword. His arms, though, those were nice even to a Yautja’s sensibilities. Archery had treated him well. There was nothing _showy_ about him. It all had a purpose. That was very, very attractive. 

“I knew it!” Noah turned on his heel, already looking up to confront a taller opponent as opposed to one around _human_ size.

Damn it, he _was_ acting like a Youngblood with a crush, and to a _human_ on top of that. Noah brandished the retracting blade, warding rather than overtly aggressive; it was a total bluff. The Hunter knew it was, and even knowing the capabilities of the retracting blade felt no fear in _calling_ that bluff. Was he even trying to be threatening? 

He seized Noah around the wrist and squeezed-- he yelped and dropped the sword without protest, and the Hunter kicked it away. It hit the wall and came to rest far enough away that Noah would have to choose between keeping an eye on the Hunter or retrieving his blade.

Wisely, he chose the Hunter. His expression had already changed from alarm to a steely set of determination.

He’d gotten a new crutch, the Hunter noted when he raised it to bludgeon him with it. He caught it and unlike Noah’s attempt with the sword, did _not_ let go. Surely Noah would have learned by now that it was an unwise decision?

The Hunter remembered, though, that humans showed great affection by offering up vulnerability— _look; I love you so much I have made myself helpless to you_. It was not a very Yautja sensibility. It was foolish to _act_ as such to a Yautja. 

Then it must mean a great love, indeed. Yautja courting was often indistinguishable from combat— two equals clashing, testing each other, and only then deciding whether a _union_ was worth it. 

He wasn’t sure that Noah was courting him, though. The Hunter was strong and powerful and surely a prized partner even to a human ignorant of his accomplishments, but he had nearly killed Noah before. He’d been scared of him. 

He’d nearly _died_ for him and he wasn’t scared _now_ , the Hunter realized, and already knew that Noah had no problem making his thoughts known-- bold, and demanding.

Noah must be going through a similar thought process. His head was tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, measuring the Hunter’s intentions. “Oh, you wanna go?” He tugged on the crutch, waiting for an answer. When he got it, he finally dropped the crutch and leaned back, like a snake about to strike, and then leapt forward and pounced on him. “Let’s go, then!”

The Hunter let the crutch fall, forgotten, and snatched Noah out of the air by the waist. Noah elbowed and struck at him with an open hand, using the heel of his palm to smash into the helm. His knee collided with the Hunter’s shoulder. 

A dull ache. Nothing more. He’d have to try harder than that. Still, the simple fact that he was hot with emotion instead of projecting an unnatural, uncomfortable calm— hot fear, then _cold_ _rage,_ and then _determination_ , colder still— like he had against the Bad Blood made the Hunter’s blood rush. He brought them both to the floor, bending his knee and caging Noah underneath him. Noah was on his back, the Hunter halfway up his chest, foot planted by his shoulder. Noah’s fist connected his chest-- Noah was snarling. His eyes were bright. His hair was still somewhat shaggy, splayed behind him. The energy of the room felt different, tighter, higher. Noah was _smiling_. 

Humans liked to treat gently those among them that were weak, or injured. With his crutch, Noah must seem both. The Hunter knew that he was neither, and finally being treated as he should be must have loosed something in him. The Hunter pitied the fools who didn’t know what his Prey was like, but then-- he was _his_. 

Noah pushed on his leg. That wasn’t going to work. Even if they were the same size, the Hunter was planted and Noah was pinned under him. He reached for him, to grab him around the neck or maybe brush claws through his hair, and Noah retaliated with a surprisingly hard blow to the inside of his wrist. 

Disabling, if they were evenly matched, and distracting regardless. He pulled his hand back and set it on Noah’s hip to keep him from kicking, and Noah hit him in the soft divot of flesh at the join of his thumb and wrist. That actually stung, and it was a smart hit, so he let go. Noah glanced up at him for a moment, eyes flashing and bright. 

Another sharp, near-painful blow to the inside of his thigh, nearly at his groin, and he lowered that knee to the ground as well. Even kneeling above him there was nearly an entire inch of space between his body and Noah’s, and Noah took advantage of the Hunter’s mock-stunned pain to lever himself out from underneath him-- hands, his good leg scooting him across the floor. 

He couldn’t waste time to stand. It would hurt, hurt him too if he tried to go too fast. It put a hitch in the flow of combat that the Hunter could tell neither of them liked. It made Noah sloppy and desperate to prove that he wasn’t _weak_. He lifted both legs up and tried to kick the Hunter. Silly, stupid Prey; the Hunter caught the little fool by the ankle of the leg that wasn’t a liability and tugged him closer, rolled him onto his shoulders, pushed his knee all the way to his chest. Noah was tucked against him and incapable of getting much leverage. It was a very neat pin, somewhat undignified for the receiver, but not painful if he didn’t struggle. 

Of course he struggled; the Hunter wouldn’t find him attractive if he didn’t. Viciously pleased, warmly amused heat rose in his chest as Noah strained against him. 

He expected a hit; more fists. Not Noah’s bad leg. It smacked him across the helm, ungraceful, but surprising enough that his head turned with it. 

He let Noah go, hand raising to check the nonexistent damage, and only a breath later followed him back to the ground. He hadn’t gotten far enough away or recovered enough, and was easy prey for the Hunter to seize by the hair and force onto his belly. He dug his knee into the Prey’s back, pinning him once again. He’d find a way out, he always did.

He was surprised, still, the Hunter noticed. He hadn’t expected Noah to use his bad leg. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Noah thrashed and dug his elbow into the Hunter’s thigh. It barely even felt like anything, was a badly-angled strike to the meat of his leg, and the Hunter shoved his face into the floor with punitive pressure. He’d have to be smarter than _that_. The noise that Noah made was strained and indignant, enraged, and it made the Hunter harden despite himself. Hands, reaching back, wrapping around his wrists-- _good_ \-- and then nails, trimmed short but still long enough to have bite-- _perfect_ \-- he released Noah’s hair, and the Prey twisted around, body flipping under his knee, to get his nails on the inside of his thigh. _That_ hurt. 

The Hunter snarled. Instead of anger, heat rose again, higher, his cock fattening in his armor. His hand closed around Noah’s throat. The Prey spasmed, exploded into _movement_ and _struggle_. There was no fear in it. He wasn’t fighting for his life; he was fighting because he could, and because he wanted to, and because it made his blood rush and felt good. He gripped him by the throat, suddenly hungry to get as close to his thundering pulse as possible-- Noah kicked him again, but with his lack of leverage there was nothing he could do to stop the Hunter from wrestling him into a pin again. His arm pressed against Noah’s chest, elbow nudging the split of his legs. He put his other hand on Noah’s thigh and took the opportunity to give him a little squeeze while he was trying to find a way out of the pin.

He froze, instead, mouth parting in surprise; eyes clouding in confusion, then realization, then arousal. The thermogram returned a spreading heat on his face, his chest, between his legs. 

It didn’t stop him from once more digging his nails into the Hunter’s wrists and clubbing his helm with a foot again. Confident that the message was sent, the Hunter let go of his Prey and watched as he rolled over his shoulder and splayed on his front. His shoulders were raised, he was trying to win purchase, and the bold little fool thought that the Hunter would give it to him. The Hunter gripped him by the waistband of his jeans and tugged him over onto his lap. His cock was painfully hard in his armor and he could see a similar spreading need between his Prey’s legs, even as Noah frantically kicked and won himself space once more.

Not for long. Never for very long; now that he could put his hands on Noah without having to hurt him, the Hunter thought he’d never get enough of it. He snared his ankle and tugged him back, Noah’s palms flat on the ground and unable to prevent it. He returned to the inside of his thigh, risking a confident grope and sliding inwards to grind his palm to Noah’s heat. Another jerk, but no split-second freeze this time, and no denial. Noah kicked him again instead, twisting a little bit to catch his gaze.

A grin. The Hunter leaned forward and retrieved him again, facing far less struggle. Noah was slowing down. He was shaking, a little bit, in his shoulders and hands; his bad leg was trembling even though he didn’t seem to feel it. 

He _would_ feel it. The Hunter pinned him down in his lap and held him there until he settled, and then for a little while longer as he learned to listen to his body. He would have kept on fighting even as it became agony, the Hunter realized, and this time was not surprised. A hot wave of desire, and then fondness, flooded him. His Prey was tensely propped over his lap, panting, making no noises of pain but clearly feeling it; expecting at any moment to be released for the impromptu wrestling match to continue. 

His Prey was done, the Hunter decided. He lowered his hand to the tight, strained muscle of his leg, digging the heel of his hand into his thigh. Noah tensed again and it almost seemed that he was about to bolt, but when the contact stayed just a touch away from painful, he put his head down again. Submitted to it. If not for his armor, the Hunter’s cock would be pressing into his belly with how hard the display made him. 

It let him get at the sore muscle. Slowly, the shaking was tapering off. Noah himself sighed and relaxed by degrees as the Hunter worked him. 

“Don’t stop.”

His hands were following a scar. Idle, dreamy, completely relieved that the Hunter was taking care of him; tending to him. The Hunter squeezed his thigh and watched with interest as heat flared between Noah’s legs once more, the touch prodded his side, and Noah squirmed to catch his eye. He was smiling again.

“You know, you could get at it better if you took my jeans off.”

 _Did he_ \--

He did. Excitement rushed through him, once more hot and prickling, and he tore Noah’s shoes off, then his jeans and underwear in one fell swoop. Noah wasn’t particularly scarred but for the huge surgical scar on his knee where it had been operated on, years ago, but he had myriad mysterious little cuts and bruises; red marks from where the Hunter had grabbed him perhaps a bit too hard. 

He was hot; his bare skin was scorching. The Hunter put his hand back on Noah’s thigh, rubbing and squeezing. Noah’s knee bent with the sheer sensation of it, then fell limp. 

“Oh, don’t stop.” Need, naked and undisguised, consumed Noah’s entire tone. His body was shaking again and the Hunter could see that he was wet between his legs. Him being able to get wet in the _first_ place would certainly make things easier; the Hunter was grateful enough for that. He dug his knuckles into a particularly difficult knot and Noah moaned. Noah usually wasn’t loud, it was hard to get him to be loud, and the Hunter had only heard him in pain or fear before this. Pleasure was a different beast entirely. “ _Oooh, god_.”

The Hunter could be patient. The thought of keeping his hands away from his Noah’s heat and wet for one more moment was nearly unbearable; almost painful with its intensity. He spread Noah’s legs open with a soft touch at his thigh. 

He could still protest, but the Hunter was growing less concerned that Noah might not share his intent with each passing moment and especially when Noah reached to playfully tug on his armor. 

“C’mon, keep going.” 

Smiling, again. The Hunter couldn’t get enough of him. He dragged his claws down Noah’s thigh just to watch him arch his back, his lips parting again to gasp. To sigh, voice raspy and thick with need. The Hunter suddenly wanted to take his helm off to be able to smell him; to taste him. 

Thin red lines took form on his Noah’s legs, beading drops of blood. He’d tear him up if he kept up like this; he already knew Noah would not protest, because he had the same magnitude of appetite as the Hunter while his body was woefully incapable of bearing it. Best to move on before he seriously injured him. 

The Hunter moved between his legs and pressed a knuckle against his wet folds. Noah rocked his hips uselessly-- even that small movement made the Hunter strain against his armor. It would have to come off sometime. He didn’t know what he was waiting for; he had his Prey under him, wet and hot and wonderfully needy. 

“Thought we were wrestling.” The Prey’s voice was bright and amused even though his eyes were half-shut. The Hunter laughed at him; delighted, more at his need than his wit. “Yeah?”

He was even more easily moved when he wasn’t squirming around. The Hunter pawed his chest and legs to urge him onto his back. Noah’s legs were spread, feet on either side of the Hunter’s hips, and when the Hunter reached for his thighs Noah reached out as if to stop him. 

Slowly. Inciting. He _wanted_ the Hunter to stop him, and stop him he did, collecting Noah’s wrists in his hand and holding them clear and out of the way. Noah’s legs tightened around him and a wash of heat pulsed to life in his chest. His fingers flexed uselessly, attempting to tug his wrists free. 

The Hunter cut his moment of rebellion short by returning to his hole, which was a dirty trick but entirely warranted. His Prey keened and his struggles melted away immediately as the Hunter knuckled his swollen, soaked clit. Sweat clung to the crease of his thighs-- slick transferred liberally from Noah’s skin to the Hunter’s finger. Noah was making tiny, desperate whines in his throat. The Hunter could tell he could make him come just from that; holding him down, toying with him. A _human_ couldn’t do that to him. 

“Fuck, you win, I surrender.” Noah wasn’t tugging against the hand around his wrists anymore. That, and his admission of surrender-- finally!-- was what the Hunter had needed. His Prey never stopped fighting, but now he had. 

He dropped Noah’s hands-- Noah let them fall to the side, weak from having been held for so long, and didn’t struggle when the Hunter turned him again. A patch of sweat shone on his back. He could handle the heat, the Hunter knew, even if his entire body was flushed with both arousal and the abnormal heat. 

Noah testingly moved his arms as the Hunter fondled him properly. The insides of his thighs were only a bit cut up, and the new position had him so intimately exposed that the Hunter could see everything whether Noah wanted him to or not. 

Could do whatever he wanted, whether Noah wanted him to or not. Noah sighed and arched his back-- pulled him back to the reality of their wants being very closely aligned. He palmed the swell of Noah’s ass on impulse and found that he liked the spring of it. He gave it a light smack, just to see if it was as springy as it felt-- Noah tensed. His neck and shoulders got hotter.

 _Interesting._

He returned to palming and squeezing Noah’s ass, pulling him apart occasionally to watch how his hole pulsed and dripped. More rarely, swatting him to make him tense and gasp again, eyes glued to the way his Noah curved his back.

“Have you been watching porn?” He asked after a few minutes. His legs were shaking, but his tone was amused even under the thickness of arousal. The Hunter did not watch _porn_ and was surprised when the suggestion made him indignant. He cocked his hand back, waiting for Noah to glance back at him before spanking him, far harder than before, and relishing the pained yelp it won. He continued, less powerfully, as if punishing his Prey for his comment; but a punishment was aimed at _correcting_ behavior, and he had the feeling this would change nothing at all. The Prey buried his face in his arms and groaned. 

The Hunter paused when Noah’s ass was the same shade as his face. He returned to his hole, then, pulling him apart. His own need was clamoring for attention. He deserved this-- this was his reward. Still, it was just as alluring to rub his knuckle over his Prey’s clit until it had his voice breaking from him unexpectedly, unwillingly. His hips jerked to try and make the Hunter give him more, but the Hunter had pulled his hand away already. Noah moaned, disappointed, and bit his wrist.

Silly Prey. Not that the Hunter didn’t enjoy it. He dragged his claws down Noah’s bared thigh, completely unsurprised when it only made him moan again, indecipherable. Noah bucked his hips, so the Hunter swatted him again.

“Hey--” He sounded wrecked. His voice was ragged with need. The Hunter ignored him, rubbing a knuckle against the soaked opening to his hole. He could smell him even past the helm, which was nothing less than impressive. Humans didn’t put out pheromones to the same noticeably degree as other animals, but they still did, and most of the time their own sweat and musk did the job well enough. Noah cried out again, frustrated that the Hunter was so easily denying him the greater pleasure he knew he could have. “Stop teasing!”

The Hunter gave his ass a pat. He’d give it to him. There wasn’t any point to _not_ , and he wanted to see his Prey come apart, but his Prey would have to be patient. Noah laid obligingly still as the Hunter disconnected his helm, setting his behind himself out of the way. Noah still didn’t turn to look. He was thinking.

He chose something else-- arched his back, clear invitation. As soon as the Hunter had taken the helm off he’d been swamped with Noah’s scent. He smelled like the woods, from where it still clung to him; more than that the salt of his sweat, the thick musk of his slick, a sharp copper tang mingling with all of it from the shallow open wounds from the Hunter’s claws. He smelled irresistible. 

He wanted to taste him, not just smell him, and the position made it exceedingly easy for him to do that. He ignored his cock straining against his armor for a little while longer in favor of gripping Noah around his thighs and hauling him up until he could press his face between Noah’s legs. He thrust his tongue out at the very second Noah tried to say something, and soon enough Noah couldn’t say anything at all as he tormented his scorching, sopping walls with his tongue. Noah yelled and moaned, body thrashing against the relentless pleasure that he had no way of escaping. The Hunter kept it up until Noah stopped fighting it. He had to learn, after all. 

He pulled his tongue out to instead rasp over Noah’s clit. It made Noah jerk and spasm involuntarily, won dazed, pitiful noises from him. 

He set him down on his side. Noah curled up a bit, whimpering. The Hunter took the reprieve to undress himself, quite pleased with himself at his newly tamed Prey. He tugged his shirt off next and tossed it away, returning his attention to his Noah after making sure it was somewhere in the vicinity of his other clothes. It was easy to loom over him, what with his loose, vulnerable position and the Hunter’s own bulk, and easy to tug him into position on his back with his legs spread.

He’d had his eyes closed; he froze when he opened them and saw the Hunter’s face. His eyelids fluttered, lips parting, once more tensing up. 

Not fear. _Surprise._ He was deciding whether he liked what he saw.

The Hunter wasn’t sure what he’d do if Noah decided he didn’t, but he was in luck; had been in luck multiple times today. Noah reached for him and the Hunter reached back. Squeezed. Noah’s hand was small in his, but not weak. He took some comfort from that and took his hand back to roll Noah’s hips up, exposing him once more. 

And again, Noah tensed. Right. Noah was small, and the Hunter was very large. He could hurt him if he wasn’t careful. Noah was squeezing the flesh of his thigh. He left indents of nails; he was looking. 

He was whining. The Hunter didn’t like the idea of his Noah fretting and reached out again to soothe him, stroking his chest and cupping his face. He was scarred, and he had survived. This would be nothing compared to that and far more pleasurable. Noah’s trepidation faded from his posture and he blinked, slowly. 

“Okay, okay.” 

Worried, but no longer so sharply. He pushed the Hunter’s hand away from his face; the Hunter took the permission for what it was and lined himself up. The head of his cock was already huge and he was thick the whole way down. He’d have to hold Noah still to keep him from jerking around and hurting himself. 

As he pushed in, the backs of his hands started to sting. He glanced down and saw Noah’s nails digging into his hands now, instead of his own thigh. His eyes were shut. He was gripping and burning inside, slick walls clinging to the Hunter’s cock. Twitching, pulsing around him. If he’d had any less stamina, he’d come on the spot just from the sensation of his Prey’s tight, needy body split open around his own. 

He hilted himself after a minute of slow, steady penetration. His cock pressed against his Prey’s belly and he could actually see it in there. 

He held still, watching his Prey’s face twist and twitch with sensation. He was in pain. Uncomfortable. Liking it, even so, or otherwise he’d be making different noises. His Prey opened his eyes. His pupils were impossibly large-- blown out with need and desire. The Hunter was struck with the sudden, striking urge to move. He wanted to fuck him so hard that the neighbors a mile away would hear him scream.

Soon. He had to let him adjust first. He leaned over Noah, gathering him up. Noah’s hands clung to his biceps and held them together as the Hunter maneuvered, sitting down and settling Noah on his lap. 

“Fuck.” Noah’s head dropped to his chest, nails digging into his arms. The Hunter gave him even more time to adjust to the new position, stroking his back to keep him calm, and when Noah’s breathing evened out again he allowed himself to move. Noah’s heat _was_ driving him wild. His own heart was pounding in his chest with the barely-restrained urge to thrust him back onto the ground and pound into him until he was well and truly broken for his cock.

“Yeah…” Noah moved against him. Once he’d regained his bearings, he wanted to move. The position set him on top and actually gave him the most leverage, leaving the Hunter dependent on him for deeper thrusts. All he could do was sit, rock his hips up, and hope that his Prey would be eager. He dug his claws into the Prey’s back, urging him to move. 

He _had_ surrendered. The Hunter gave him a few more seconds before deciding that he’d had his fun and then seized him by the thighs to stand. 

“Hey--!” Noah yelped, squirming and clinging soon after. 

Even taking a step felt far better than letting Noah dictate the pace. Evidently, Noah agreed. He writhed in the Hunter’s arms and ground down on him. It was almost too easy to pin him to the wall, Noah’s legs twining around his waist and his nails still digging into his arms. It was a relief close to mind-numbing when he was finally able to move. 

“I wanna come,” Noah gasped. One hand dipped between their bodies to rub at himself. The hot clutch of his walls and the friction of fucking him had the Hunter agreeing with him, very much-- the position, holding his Prey open and exposed and completely helpless against him, was doing almost as much as the physical pleasure itself. Noah was close, he could tell as much; was tensing around him and squirming in his grip like it would help. “Come in me.”

His voice was so ragged. They were lost in the sound of skin on skin, the intense pleasure of the Hunter’s cock wrecking Noah’s hole. The intense pulse of his walls around the Hunter’s cock tipped him over the edge-- he didn’t bother trying to hold it back. He hilted himself entirely and let the blinding wave of pleasure crest, spilling himself in Noah. 

Suddenly, Noah cried out. He threw his head back and ignored the startling sound it wrought, entire body tensing and clutching the Hunter. “Fuck, I’m coming!”

His arm stung. His Prey’s hand came away with streaks of fluorescent blood on his nails and fingertips. 

Noah panted. He panted, too, chest heaving. They were both warm and sweaty, lazy with afterglow. 

Noah grumbled after a few seconds of that, kicking weakly. “Fuck.”

Was he in pain? No, he couldn’t be. “Fuck, put me down.” 

He obliged. A rush of cum followed, dripping down his thighs and even to the floor. It would have to be cleaned up sometime. The _Hunter_ did not intend to clean it up. He set Noah on his feet, and then swiftly seized him by the shoulders to keep him from continuing to go down until he fell. He helped his Noah lean up against the wall, hand resting on his shoulder just in case. Noah breathed; soft, now. He looked up and smiled as if to assure the Hunter that he was alright. 

How’d he known that the Hunter was worried?

“You wanna go wash up?” 

It was not an invitation, he already knew. So soon after submitting so wholly to him, his Prey was _already_ back to bossing him around. He nodded and followed after him as he got himself in order-- got his crutch, oriented them down the hall to the bathroom. He pulled what looked like a stool out of the shower and put it on a hamper.

“Cold water okay?”

He’d already turned the water on before finishing, so the Hunter figured it was yet another command disguised as a question. “C’mon in, saves water.”

He ducked under the shower rod. With the two of them, it was crowded but cozy. Noah soaped himself down and cleaned up as well as he could while the Hunter simply stood there and let the water get the worst of it off.

He was not spared. Noah made him bend under the spray to clean his wounds, if they could even be called that, and to be briefly rinsed. It was easier to go along with it; and perhaps he was enjoying being fussed over, if only a bit, by Noah who seemed incredibly unwilling to fuss over anything. 

“Done?” Noah interrupted him-- he realized he’d been staring. He grunted an affirmative. The shower turned off and Noah left, tugging a towel from the shower rod and throwing it in his general direction. Noah opened a cabinet and got himself a towel, mussing his hair, wrapping it around himself. “You came back,” he murmured, more to the room than the Hunter. 

Of course he had come back. He nodded, watching the way his Prey’s expression softened. 

He toweled himself off. The towel was made for someone Noah’s size, not his, and so he was still dripping in several places by the time the towel was soaked through. Noah glanced at him and tossed him another.

He finished drying off as Noah left. The steady click of the crutch on wooden floors let him know where Noah was in the house-- his bedroom, the hall, the kitchen. Music started to play. 

Noah returned, still shirtless but now in loose, plaid blue pants. 

He’d tried to mimic how Noah had tied his towel around his waist, but it wasn’t doing much. Noah snickered at him. He was so comfortable around him, now, the Hunter realized. It didn’t make him feel indignant, as he expected. It just felt good.

“Looking good.” 

Still, even though he was a bit worn from his exertion he couldn’t permit his Prey having too much fun at his expense. He pushed out of the bathroom and slung him up over his shoulder with a motion too quick for Noah to fight.

“Hey!” 

He still tried, but not for very long. The Hunter grabbed his crutch with his other hand and walked them down the hall to the couch. He dropped the crutch, and then dropped himself, laying down and draping Noah on top of himself. 

Fight entirely gone, Noah turned his head to rest it on the Hunter’s chest. The Hunter held him close. He’d recovered from the cold spray; his body was once again warm. His hair was damp, but the heat would dry it soon enough. 

His Prey yawned, eyes drifting shut.

“‘Night,” he murmured. The first time Noah had fallen asleep in front of him, it was with drugs and terror, and pain, and the knowledge that he would die soon; wary. Opposite sides of a campfire. His pocketknife where he could grab for it. The second time, against his chest, exhausted and broken from the Bad Blood and drugged from the medigel. Carried home like some lost, precious thing, though the Hunter certainly hadn’t entertained those thoughts at the time. 

Now he was warm, and clean, sated. Smile loosening, mouth open in sleep. The Hunter loosely stroked his back when he realized he _was_ asleep. It was hard to parse through all the different, warring emotions that Noah made him feel. He wanted to protect him, but he wanted to wrestle him and maybe even properly spar. He wanted to keep him safe; but knew he could never truly be happy if he _was_ kept safe. He couldn’t keep him like an exotic pet, and he certainly couldn’t take him as a hunting partner.

He couldn’t keep him, but he could have times like these; he could have him. He could have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well I love these two. If you liked this, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> (there's a [ playlist!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD-6bwOQiGM&list=PLMWVnHOeztAAb9Dn1I_gRls13SOP8tvCl))


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